


Give me love or give me death

by myoue



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, M/M, POV Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Tattooed Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), mentions of physical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:31:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2623493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myoue/pseuds/myoue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nothing much to do in prison besides sit ups and getting your lover's name tattooed on your back.</p><p>Serialkiller!Levi and Policeofficer!Eren, except now more accurately known as Tattooed!Levi and Crying!Eren (eren cries for good reasons, ok)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give me love or give me death

**Author's Note:**

> technically an aside to [Come see me again, my love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1488586), but you can probably read this on its own? probably. i told myself to stop writing for this au but apparently all my self-control has been used up photoshopping cool tattoos on the backs of levi cosplayers. honestly i have no idea how prisons or tattooing works ~~and if it seems like this was influenced by jd well it probably was~~ i'm sorry, we're all sorry

There wasn’t much Levi preferred to do.

There were recreational activities, some of which were absolutely horrid like running track, playing board games with other shit heads like they were in fucking kindergarten, or sucking up to literally everyone including the guards, mostly in front of security cameras in case they were keeping an extra close watch on you, in hopes of eventually possibly recommending you for early parole.

Levi minded his own business.

“What are you in for?” he was asked constantly – constant enough that Levi had developed a standard answer, but often enough that he sometimes liked to change it up a little just for kicks. They needed to put him on some kind of scale, whether to avoid him, how often to avoid him, and the extent to which he could be pissed off because of what his moral compass wouldn’t hold back on when it came to provoked or even unprovoked violence.

“Killed people,” Levi would typically answer, not lacking in a repulsive spitting towards their shoes like they weren’t too far off from being the next one he’d knock off simply for annoying him.

“How many?” his cellmate once dared to ask.

“Dozens.”

It had gotten around because suddenly the faces Levi walked by turned from mocking to wary, their normal walk into sidestepping around him. They probably all thought he’d committed some sort of massacre but it actually happened on multiple occasions, Levi wouldn’t bother to point out. It didn’t make much of a difference to him anyway. A life is a life, whether it was taken alone or with others, slowly or all at once.

He wasn’t even convicted with half the murders he’d actually done. The police were incompetent, lazy in doing their job, or maybe they’d wanted to get him off the streets with however long a sentence they could as soon as possible.

Levi often wondered what happened to lives that go unrecognized. Or even when they eventually find the bodies, would they attribute them to him and then come in his cell telling him he’s got an extra three life sentences on top of his original? Maybe that would also get out in the prison, and they would tell stories about him during their next campfire.

“Were you like a hitman or something?” asked one of the curious few while Levi was picking away at some mashed potatoes during morning hour. They tasted like they’d skimped on butter for one half and didn’t bother with the rest.

 “No.” Levi ate at the potatoes anyway because they were the only decent things in here. “Hitmen get paid. I did it for kicks.”

“Seriously?”

“Because I felt like it. It’s the answer I gave the courts.” Levi shrugged, knowing the ones who are most curious are never the ones who can be satiated easily.

“What was the real reason?” Auruo pressed. “Revenge?” He apparently had a death wish.

Levi let the mashed potatoes, soggy and more to the point of liquid than solid, drip down his fork and onto the steel tray with the rest of his food. He quieted to little more than a murmur, staring at Auruo whose face looked like it was already sweating bullets.

 “I did it because I could, end of story. There’s no other fancy bullshit to it. Maybe if they’d screamed and begged me a little more to spare them, I might have given them time to say goodbye to their families.” Levi put his fork down, tilting his head like he was pondering whether to stab the fork through Auruo’s eye sockets.

There was no mistaking the tight flinch Auruo made when Levi moved to get up, arching an innocent eyebrow before going to dump the rest of his tray into the garbage.

Of course, most of that had been said solely for the sake of theatrics. Hopefully the rest of them would leave out of his business next time.

They didn’t.

It seemed Auruo was a blabbermouth because more of them had started coming up to Levi, less intimidated and more than intrigued, dying for a good story and Levi wasn’t willing to give it to them. Obviously, none of them had been watching the news for the famous ‘Levi’ serial killer story going around for months a few years back.

 “If you tell me something about your story, I’ll let you in on my plan to get out of here,” Farlan told him one night when Levi was on the floor of their shared cell, doing as many sit ups as he could so he’d have the excuse of only half paying attention to whatever it was his cellmate was going on about.

“Do what you want but leave me out of it,” Levi grunted, arms crossed over his chest and feet hooked underneath the steel edge of his bed. “Go ahead in front of the cameras and kiss the floor, kiss their asses. I’m sure they’d like a good show.”

“I’m not like that, dickweed.” Levi couldn’t tell but Farlan probably rolled his eyes. “I have a wife.”

“Do you now? Funny, thought I saw you with, uhh — who the fuck ever it was over in rec hall—”

“That was…!” Levi saw Farlan upside down, sitting up on his bed to lean over with his elbows against his knees and his head down like he was ashamed. “He offered, alright? The guy had seasoned tuna, and I need to eat something that doesn’t taste like cardboard soup once in a while or I’d go crazy, accidentally throw a guy’s head into a wall or something. And they don’t like seeing behaviour like that.”

 “Putting out ‘cause you miss the good life, huh.”

“I didn’t ask to be put in here, you rat bastard.”

“And I didn’t ask to be interrogated about shit that got me in here. What are you all? Buncha twelve year olds waiting for their little bedtime princess stories?”

Levi let out another pent up exhale.

“Sounds like someone hasn’t gotten any in a while.” Farlan went on with a nervous twiddle of his thumbs, and Levi wanted to ignore him. “Don’t want to put out ‘cause you vowed no cheating on your lover back home? Or you ain’t have one? I never seen you go for visiting hours.”

“They don’t visit.”

“Why? She ugly? Dead? Did you kill her?”

Levi was up with a fist in Farlan’s orange before he was even done with his set.

“I’m in here because of them,” Levi sneered, enunciated cold and crisp. His eyes narrowed down on Farlan’s, and it seemed like there were two blabbermouths he’d need to get rid of before his sanity came back.

 “That’s rough, dude,” Farlan said, hands put up in defense with a weak smile.

“I don’t take it personally.” Levi let go, shoving him back on the bed, uncaring of Farlan choking a little afterwards, before getting back down on the ground to finish off the set of sit ups. “Where’d you get your tattoo?”

“Huh?”

“Your tattoo. The teardrop beside your eye. I didn’t see it there the other day.”

“Oh.” Levi could see him touch it gently on his face. “Hange did it for me.”

“Hange?”

“Does tattoos for inmates in their cell. Why? You want one?”

Levi laid on the ground now, chest heaving and letting the sweat accumulated on his back to cool on the icy floor as he looked toward the ceiling. “Maybe,” he breathed out. Maybe the pain of a needle in his skin is what he needed.

“If you do, don’t go telling no one though. Don’t be flaunting it around, you know that shit’s illegal in here,” Farlan said, looking around the outside of their cell like there was someone listening.

“If it’s illegal, why’d you get one on your goddamn face?”

Farlan was silent for a moment, and Levi could hear the springs in his bed shifting and squeaking with his movement. “Romeo said he’d look the other way.”

Maybe Levi would get one just so he wouldn’t have to be here to listen to Farlan’s bullshit for a while.

They didn’t talk seriously about getting out of here again. Farlan would mention it every now and again offhandedly, but Levi knew there was no amount of ass kissing or good behaviour that would get him out earlier than his lifetime.

He met up with Hange during recreation hours, calling out a rough “Hey” when Hange didn’t look up from the bed of the open cell, instead being too preoccupied with chipping something off the end of something else.

“I’m Levi,” he said flatly, and he could see the ears that perked up slightly at the name. “You do tattoos?”

Hange was silent for a while, as if contemplating what to make of this situation. Either that or he was being straight out ignored.

“Levi…” Hange spoke in a long, calculated drawl like it was something new and interesting. “You’re famous around these parts. What was it I heard… killed over a hundred men with his hands behind his back?”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Not at all. I take rumours with a grain of salt.” Hange looked him up and down. “Unless they come prancing in here right in front of me.”

Tattoo artist Hange looked rather clean themself, letting Levi into the cell with a curt upturning of the chin. He sat down on the stool in front, inspecting Hange with glasses on top of a wiry mess of hair and sharp eyes focused on getting questionable black residue off what now looked like a needle.

“You need something?” Hange regarded him for a moment. “Payment is anything with rhubarb in it, pens, staples, plastic, pretty much anything interesting you can get your hands on.”

“I have cigarettes.”

“I don’t smoke.”

Levi frowned. “The only place to get pens and staples is from the library, and they heavily check that shit.”

Hange only shrugged. “It’s a valuable resource for my business. You can try to bribe the commissary to get some rhubarb pie.”

That also sounded like a huge pain. Farlan should have told him this was going to be more trouble than it was worth.

“What did that Farlan guy give you?” Levi asked. He didn’t know if this kind of thing was supposed to be private or anything, but everyone should know by now that they were cellmates.

Hange picked clean the needle, setting it down into laid out cloth on top of a nearby table and wrapping it up carefully. “Oh, he and I go back a ways. I owed him something anyway.”

Farlan was such a whore.

“Fine,” Levi bristled. “Would you settle for a story?”

Hange looked to him as if asking if he was serious, realizing he was dead serious, and then started bellowing out laughter. “A story? Hah! Grandest thing I’d heard in months.”

“That wasn’t a joke.” Levi grit his teeth together.

“Listen, it’s going to take a lot more than that—”

“I can tell you’re the curious type,” Levi interrupted with a sharp edge because he had things to say for once. “Heard about me from the others, I reckon. What are they saying about me, huh? Am I some ultra covert mafia gangster? Some crazy psychopath killer without moral conscious? There’s a lot of dirt goin’ around this prison, but I can tell plainly you’re simply not satisfied. Who isn’t in this godforsaken hellhole? It’s like you’ve all been deprived of a childhood.”

He was ready to walk out if this didn’t work. Although, it was no lie; Hange had intrigued him as well.

“So, you wanna know my story?”

He didn’t know whether Hange was impressed or amused or neither when they’d simply stared at one another, hearing the clattering and echoing of the other inmates making a rouse in the other cells.

And Levi didn’t move until one side of Hange’s mouth turned up in an etched smirk. “You’re right. I’ve been dying for someone interesting to pick at these days.” Levi breathed out. “Just promise me it’s going to be a good one then.”

“You can be the judge of that once it’s done.”

Hange only laughed again, rolling up the sleeves of the orange to reveal long tattooed arms, and Levi couldn’t help but stare.

“Let’s get started with what exactly it is you want,” Hange said.

They’d discussed patterns for hours. Something simple was what Levi wanted the most since it was going to be on his upper back near his shoulder blades and out of his sight, but Hange wanted to make it complex enough to be worth both of their time. For some reason, Hange seemed eager to waste the rest of the stolen ink on him.

Levi had insisted on one thing that had to be written, though. Whatever other flowery crap was on Hange.

“First of all, is that thing sterile?” Levi asked at the start of their first session after Hange had taken out the needle and ink and finished explaining the gist of how this was all going to work.

“Of course.”

“I don’t want to be getting infected with diseases, and don’t give me any of that soap-and-water bullshit.” Levi scoffed.

“I am fully aware of the risks this involves, and as such I make sure all my needles are properly cleaned and sterile after every use. I used to be a doctor, you know,” Hange added.

He had the urge to ask what the hell a doctor was doing in here, but Hange merely adjusted the glasses to be put atop the mess of hair, and frankly while the needles may be washed often enough Levi isn’t so sure that greasy hair is.

“Fine, let’s get on with it then,” Levi said.

This whole set up was about as complex and cleanly as a tattoo parlor taking place in an underground sewer. He simply laid his stomach down on the bed, with Hange sitting on the stool next to it, spreading out a mess of needles and ink on the side table.

The first poke wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was calming – it cleared his head. The pain on his skin was dull instead of sharp like he’d expected it to be, like he was used to, and it had a hand in suppressing the ache in his chest better than what a sharp pain ever could.

“It wasn’t a hundred men,” Levi started again while Hange was about halfway across his back with the outline. “I wasn’t running a fucking crime syndicate or some other fairytale joke like that.”

Hange snorted but didn’t stutter at all in the needlework. “Well, I can cross two things off my theory list now.”

“You’ve got a list of theories on me now, do you?”

“It’s more of a mental diary entry.”

Levi went on to talk about the killings. He described each and every one, probably in more detail than he ever thought he could actually remember until he was saying it out loud like he was reciting Shakespeare for a school play. It was probably more detail than Hange wanted in the first place.

 “I did it because life is easy to take,” Levi said, thinking the needle in his back was somehow connected to the place in his chest that let him divulge things. “Life is fragile, it’s practically there for you to take. Once when I was a kid, I’d touched a butterfly’s wings and it fell, fell so easily to the ground. It scared the hell out of me. Having that much power scared the hell out of me.”

Every time he went into especially excruciating detail, maybe it was the satisfied hums Hange made that kept him going – like he was an experiment that was going particularly well, or the keen look that was surely plastered across their face even though Levi couldn’t see it.

“But it felt good.” He felt pinpricks all over his skin. “Because all those things you hear about light leaving the eyes and blood seeping from the wound as the body and soul you’ve just destroyed utters its last breath, I couldn’t give more of a shit about all that. Did I want to make artwork out of bodies? Did I want to carve up their corpses or empty out all their organs to make a pretty fucking painting? The answer is no and it will always be no.”

He had no idea what Hange did to get in here. Maybe what he described was already a feeling Hange knew of.

“I heard there was a lover,” Hange said one day on one of their later sessions, after he’d finished talking about the killings like that was all there was to the story.

He still felt the blood stir in his veins. “Yeah? So?”

“They seem like an integral part of the story.”

“Hm.” He grunted, pressed his fingers down in the pillow.

He wasn’t sure how to start, where to start.

He’d been trying to forget more than remember, even if he hadn’t been doing a very good job at it every time his dreams were infiltrated, turning into nightmares full of slashing and gratified smiling and blood-stained cheeks, and he wanted to pound it all out of his brain by the time he woke up. Every time he’d face the wall, he would be reminded of the wall where he’d pressed lips against lips, searing hot like he was being boiled alive. Every time there was a storm outside, he would be reminded of how close they’d been under the rainfall, skin against skin, and he would be caught in this desperate, pleading attempt for more and _more_ of what he couldn’t have because he was stuck here in this place with no way out. Even if he was given death, he wanted more.

“He was a police officer,” Levi said once he was sure the grit in his throat might be mistaken for the pain of the pricks that were now grinding into his shoulder. “We never belonged together from the first moment I’d first thrust a knife into someone and he’d come with a gun pointed at my face.”

But Levi had kept going, kept running after him despite it should have being the other way around. It was little more than amusing to see victims splash in their own blood on the ground, and it was sensational to see that face of his come with a look of horror and shaking with an antagonistic fury.

When would he stop? Never, he would shrug. Levi would be berated, threatened and sworn on a life to be taken in. And he had never felt such a despicable sense of wanting.

 “He was my whole world, even though we were part of two completely separate ones.” Levi smiled into the pillow. “I was obsessed with him.”

Hange didn’t normally interfere with his talking. Levi didn’t know if they simply didn’t feel the need to interrupt or if they were too concentrated on doing his tattoo. Not like Levi minded. It was their payment being wasted if they weren’t listening.

“The first thing I noticed about him was his hands,” Levi continued, staring at his own like they would jog his memory better. “He wrapped his own jacket around me, his police jacket – and on me, a fucking murderer!” he practically shouted into the echoes of the cell like he wanted to prove it. “He didn’t even know me, and I must have looked like shit – sitting in a blood-splattered mess on the night of my first kill. But for some reason, he just… sat with me. Maybe he felt bad for me. I was a killer and I could have killed him. I don’t even know if he knew it at the time.”

Levi chuckled, and Hange told him to stay still.

 “ _’You look cold’_ he’d said to me. And I don’t know why it was so – it felt like it was something I needed at the time. I was pretty damn cold, actually, and he was so warm with his beating heart and his seething rage. All I could think at that moment was that my life was his, in every possible way and every possible sense.”

He’d talk from morning until dusk, although sometimes Hange would be crying for him to stay and finish the story even when the alarm rang at the end of the day to order all of them back into their cells. At least Hange was actually listening to the story. Levi actually found he wanted to stay, too.

 “There was contempt in his eyes more than anything else,” Levi said. “And sometimes, I would wonder if all of it was even worth it. He was just doing his job and I was interfering under a fucking delusion with no end in sight. Maybe I was like duckling that attached myself to the first person who did me good.”

“Did you just call yourself a duckling?” Hange quipped amusedly.

“For fuck’s sake. And sometimes, I’d purposely wait for him to show up just to see if he would come, and I prayed that one day he didn’t so I could be released from all this. But he did, every time, without fail. He came every single goddamn time and he really shouldn’t have. He ruined me by doing that.”

Farlan once asked how the tattoo was going, and Levi asked him how he knew he ended up getting one. Farlan had merely answered that Levi stopped doing sit ups near the bed.

 “So, how’d you end up in here?” was Hange’s last question to him. It was tentative but fitting since they were on what would be their last session.

“I took him out on a date,” Levi replied.

“Oh!”

“And then he called the police on me.” The air was stale after that, and Levi wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh to break the tension. “SWAT might even have been there, I don’t know.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” Hange said ruefully.

“Don’t be. It was a wakeup call, I guess,” Levi said quieter then because he’d had to tell himself this every day, to stop remembering the eyes that looked at him with such regret, and those were the eyes that would begin to eat away at him ever so slowly through the days in here. He would have rather taken a bullet in between his own eyes.

He didn’t realize the long lack of movement on his back until he turned his head to question it, and it was like Hange only just remembered to call out, “Okay! It’s done. Wait, they called SWAT on you when you’re like five three...” Hange murmured lowly.

The tattoo was done, and Levi could finally move and probably punch things again.

He was patted on the arm reassuringly as Hange told him there was no glass allowed in here for him to see a reflection of his back right now, and the glasses on Hange’s nose would sadly have to stay where they were.

“It’s good!” Hange reassured him again even though Levi didn’t ask. “I ended up putting wings, too. They’re spread out – a little like you’re flying! You didn’t ask for it, I know, but I took a little liberty and I think it turned out really well. It’s wings with the name on top and in the middle like you asked for. The wings totally suit you. Although, I did add it in a sort of last minute. After I heard part of your story I thought this would go really well on you...”

“Get on with it.”

“So, I really hope you’ll like it once you see it,” Hange finished, before standing up and overlooking his back.

Levi would later on find that he did like it, quite a lot actually, once he got to the bathrooms to twist and turn himself through the reflection of the mirrors opposite each wall. He’d stayed in there a little too long staring at himself, thinking that the story he’d given Hange as payment almost seemed like chump change compared to what he’d gotten for it.

“So, is the name you had me put, is he the police officer? The one in the story?” Hange asked, putting away the used needle. “Air… in, is it?”

And it was like Hange was dropped with a ten tonne weight when Levi sat still, unmoving and not talking.

Because from then on Levi wouldn’t be able to see his tattoo, would barely even be able to touch it with his fingertips no matter how far he tried to reach for it behind him. Eren was out there while he was in here. It was what he wanted – for the pain and the wings to set him free, even if the stain and the name scrawled upon it in antiquated cursive would never let him forget.

“ _Eren Jaeger_ ,” Levi clarified, and then would end up sighing. “Yeah, he’s the love of my fucking life.”

-

“Going for visiting hours? That’s a first. Guess someone does love you,” would be Farlan’s last words to Levi.

“Wish me luck,” Levi had said, “That I don’t tear the glass open and crawl to the other side before you do.”

-

Eren’s face looked like it was only just holding back tears from their session.

He could see Eren nodding furiously through the soundproof visitor’s glass as they were both pulled away from it.

But not much longer after that, he’d gotten Levi to walk right through the prison’s own metal detectors, empty and easy, exploiting the completely lacklustre state of security when it came to checking in visitor’s ID.

They were all incompetent, and Levi would be able to breathe fresh air once again.

There was just something good about the air.

-

It wasn’t until they were in the room of a shitty motel no less, that Levi would see Eren look like that again.

“Room for two,” Eren said as Levi remained off to the side, looking at his nails and trying to pick the black out of them.

The landlord looked between the both of them, unmoving except to reach for something below the counter, before saying, “I don’t want any excessive…” He eyed them narrowly, “… _roughhousing_.”

Eren was stunned into silence for a few moments, and Levi couldn’t help a cheeky smirk to himself. “Oh, no. _No_. We’re not – we’re not like that. We’re… brothers,” Eren blurted. “On a roadtrip.”

The landlord looked skeptical. “A roadtrip?”

“Yes.”

Levi had the urge to roll his eyes. The landlord looked like he was too old to be playing along with their bullshit, but nevertheless handed over keys to a room anyway as Eren handed him cash.

“Come on, we’re room 18.” Eren was careful not to mention his name as he lugged at his duffel bag, heading down the dim hallway.

Levi started after him, only taking a brief stop at the counter to say to the landlord out of Eren’s earshot, “We’ll be having lots of _brotherly_ love.” With a lilt of his head he let that sink in, and then stalked after Eren once more when the landlord just stared at him blankly.

He latched onto Eren’s back as they walked down the hall, and Eren stuttered a bit under the weight. “L-Levi?”

“I don’t want to be your brother,” Levi said into his shoulder.

“You’re not.”

“I may have killed people but I’m not going to commit fucking incest, too. Don’t put that shit on me.”

“Shh! Keep your voice down. Why are you telling the whole world? There could be… cops. Here.”

“You’re a cop,” Levi said flatly.

“Not anymore!” Eren sagged dejectedly.

“You’re also the one who said we were brothers, _god_ , Eren. We don’t even look related.”

Eren chuckled as he jangled the keys into the lock of their room with Levi still attached awkwardly to his shoulder.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Eren told him once they were inside and he’d flung his duffel bag on the floor. “Do you… want to come in with?” he said slowly.

Instead, Levi snaked a hand up Eren’s stomach, laying a kiss to the back of his neck just so he could feel Eren shudder from it. He was turned around and kissed fully then, delicate, quiet, and Levi didn’t want to let him go anywhere, didn’t want to let him move a single inch from his reach. Pulling his neck down and nipping at him lightly, they tripped forward on to the bed and Levi got on his knees about to eat him alive.

“Levi!” Eren gasped.

“Hm?” He nipped again. “What is it.”

“I have to take a shower.”

Levi leaned back dissatisfied and torn with the fact that clean bodies were a turn on and the fact that he wanted to smash his face into Eren's. “I guess,” he mumbled.

“Yeah.”

He detached himself from Eren to flop down on the bed. “I don’t think we’d be doing much cleaning in there, anyway, if I joined you,” he said, and Eren already looked like a baked lobster before even getting up.

If being incarcerated taught Levi anything, it was that patience will be rewarded.

And Eren was a prize he’d eaten years’ worth of shitty mashed potatoes for.

“Fine.” Eren pouted.

Levi gave a languid smile. “Clean yourself up well, love.”

He watched Eren get into the bathroom before lying back against the bed, and he suddenly wished he’d gotten in there with Eren after all. Even just lying here, it’s like the only thing he could focus on was the hissing spray of the shower head, the thoughts bombarding him of Eren’s body being pelted by water and the droplets and soap surely dragging down his skin, and he wasn’t sure if Eren was humming or singing quietly in there or if there was actually some music, perhaps of the classical kind, inexplicably playing itself in Levi’s head.

“Okay, Levi. It’s all yours,” Eren called ten minutes later.

Another thing that being incarcerated taught him was sitting with your thoughts for too long meant unnecessary wonder and exceptionally long periods of wanting.

He’d never felt cleaner in this dilapidated motel shower, though. They had soap in prison, of course, but it was like he could never properly wash out the stench of prison that had inundated in him and the achy feeling that he was still dirty even when he had scrubbed every part of himself until the skin turned raw and he was forced out by some other inmate because he’d gone over his indicated shower time.

Maybe it was the fact that Eren had touched this soap, waxed it all over his body, that made everything feel conclusively better. Eren was so, so good. How he’d managed to convince himself that being without Eren was better was beyond him. Thinking back to the days in prison felt like swirling chaos, and now it was like he could finally see things that weren’t heavy with grime and collected mildew.

“Levi,” he heard Eren suddenly whisper from the other room like he wasn’t sure if he wanted Levi to hear him or not.

But Levi did as if his brain was exapted to Eren’s voice, inclined to hear it no matter what, even through concrete walls and comet storms.

He’d just gotten out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, letting the bathroom door open to let the steam out, and he looked out to see Eren on the verge of weeping real tears. And Levi panicked.

“Eren?” Levi hurried out despite still being dripping wet. “Eren, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Yeah, I’m – fine.” Eren sniffed, looking surprised at himself that he was even crying. He blinked a few times until Levi sat on the bed with him, cupping his cheek to smear away at the wetness. Eren took a shaking breath. “My name is on your back.”

Levi paused. “Oh.” He had entirely forgotten about it. Not that he’d forgotten about the tattoo itself, but that Eren had never seen it since he’d gotten out of prison, because his clothes had fully covered it, and the sex they’d managed to have since then were facing each other… “Oh,” Levi said again.

Eren took in another shivering breath. And Levi had no idea what to say.

He sat still while Eren got up to go around him.

“Did you get it while you were in... there?” Eren asked tentatively, touching it carefully like he was touching the lifted ridges on a delicate oil painting.

“Yeah.”

Eren traced his back with the pads of his fingers, outlining his name following along the cursive. Levi let him look at it, and he couldn’t even remember what it looked like exactly. It’s like he’d mostly gone on faith, simply believing the tattoo was there without any need for continuous affirmation of its existence. It was simply there. Like how Eren had always just _been there_ with him.

He felt Eren grip at his upper arms and tighten with every sniff Eren made to keep the tears back and his breath even, even though it didn’t sound like it was working at all, until Levi felt him fall heavy against his neck.

“Levi,” Eren said quietly again, pushing his arms through to hug around Levi’s abdomen while he pushed his face into his neck. “Levi, I—”

He turned around to face Eren, whose eyes were soaked with ugly tears by now, sniffing loudly, and Levi held his face still. “Eren, don’t cry. What did I tell you before? Don’t cry for me, okay?”

It was a promise Eren couldn’t help but break constantly.

“Thank you,” is all Eren would whisper.

He’d cried for the rest of the night, cried when Levi held him to his chest, close and warm, cried when Levi laid him down on the bed and stole kisses to Eren’s neck, cried when Levi was pushing him into the mattress because further and further wasn’t enough. Eren looked overwhelmed, but he kept going.

And Eren especially cried when his hands grasped together around Levi’s back to feel the tattoo with his name forever engraved there – because Levi had devoted his life to Eren Jaeger, and not a moment less would they spend anywhere or any more time apart.

 


End file.
